The Future is My Future

 Dear my future self,

 

I hope you are doing well,

And that our spirit is strong and our bones are never frail.

I am but seventeen now,

So forgive me if this has an immature sound.

I have a few questions, as you must have known,

For you because by now we are old and grown.

Do we ever leave this tired old city,

To join the land of the living?

Do we reside in New York City, as we dreamed of,

Or Paris, the City of Love?

Did you forget about this old town,

After years of merely sitting around?

Or, do we have no home,

Choosing only to roam?

 

Did you forget about me, and the words I constantly write?

Did our dreams get blinded by the light?

Are you sitting in a café somewhere,

Feeling the cool autumn air,

With words spilling onto the paper in front of you?

Or, did you decide that you were through,

With the silly dreams of a child,

And go off to live in the land of the wild?

Do you act, or sing, or dance,

Thinking that it is much better to be freelance?

 

Are you living the life that always gave us fear,

With a husband and children always near?

Are they watching you read this, word for word,

Thinking that this is all absurd?

Are you happy, in a suburban home,

Without even a moment alone?

 

No matter where we are, I hope we find joy.

I hope, all of the limits and restrictions, we destroy.

I hope that we travel the world and see

Everything that this world brings.

I hope that no worry crosses your mind

Of money, or solitude, or anything of the kind.

But lastly, I hope you’re living the life you love

And that you never forget to thank the One above.

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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